So Little Light
At the corner of Mine and Main,
so little light , yet still enough
to stir the birds from sleep, and I,
awakened by their soft beginning,
lie in bed and listen to the city yawn
and stretch one car at a time
Spared the alarm's shrill drill,
I can hear the dewy song
of a white-throated sparrow
in the willow beyond my windowsill.
Soon there will be talking, too many
things said, not enough singing,
even less listening.
John Smith's book, Even that Indigo, was published in 2012.